


Call Me By My Name

by thesearchforbluejello



Series: In-Between [1]
Category: Whiskey Cavalier (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, based on a really excellent prompt, canon compliant in the sense that it's based off what we have but goes au, our favorite dumbass spies are a mess no matter what plotline is happening, this ruined me a lot as I wrote it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-13 08:02:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18464830
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesearchforbluejello/pseuds/thesearchforbluejello
Summary: Six months ago, Will's team was buried so deep he's had nothing but silence to keep him company as he goes through the motions of his new life. Silence, that is, until an unforeseen turn of events brings it all crashing down again.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> HUGE THANKS to itsalwaysfour for prompting this plotline with the suggestion of the team going into deep cover for protection. She also suggested a 'teachers' ploline which is _amazing_ because I had already started on the scene with the school in chapter two when she mentioned it, so I hope this checks all your boxes (including angst)!!! I'm so excited to finally post this now that I'm not sitting on it, waiting to finish posting _Sharp Objects_!

Will sits back in his chair with the whole bottle of rum-- or, rather, what had been the whole bottle a few minutes ago. Between swigs he tries not to think about how everything fell apart. FUBAR, his old CO would have said, a lifetime ago. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Will stares into this empty apartment and watches the shadows play on the walls as the light outside the slatted window shades shifts and settles as Los Angeles breathes. 

Yeah, definitely beyond all recognition.

*****

He’s not exactly hungover when he walks into the station the next morning, but he sure doesn’t feel bright eyed and bushy tailed. He sets his coffee on his desk and rolls his chair forward. The light above his head flickers, spitting an electric crackle, and he glares at it. 

“Rough night?” Richmond says, taking his seat at the desk across from him. 

“Not particularly,” Will says. “Just like any other.”

“A day like any other would still smell like bad coffee,” Richmond parodies, eyeing his own mug full of what Will assumes must be the station’s horrendous coffee. Will smiles at that. “Ay,” Richmond cheers, “there’s the smile. Alright, boss. What’s on the docket today?”

Will flips through the files. “The Milligan robbery,” he says.

“Right, right. Where did you want to start?”

“Not sure yet. Give me a minute.” Will takes a long sip of his coffee.

“Mitch, can I ask you something?”

Will looks up. “That depends what it is.”

“Was your old precinct like this too? All, like, bust-the-new-guy? Because it was like this as a beat cop too, when I was a rookie, but I didn’t think it would be so bad now.”

Will sets the file down. He wants to ask what happened that was making Richmond bring it up this morning, but he knows the specifics don’t matter. Richmond is a smart kid, a fact proven alone by how young he is and yet having made detective already. “Yeah,” Will says, which is a lie given that he didn’t actually come from another precinct, but also a truth. “It’s like that everywhere. Them hazing you is how they test you, Jessie, just like when you were a rookie. It’s when they ignore you that you know they don’t care.”

“Okay. Well, good to know. I mean, I already knew, but it’s good to hear it anyway.” 

“You won't be the new guy forever.” Will smiles and picks the file up again. Some days Richmond reminds him a lot of Standish. He lets the smile fade and picks up his coffee again. He can definitely understand feeling out of place. 

“Clarkson, Richmond,” the captain bellows from the doorway to his office. Will and Richmond both stand from their seats. “You’re up. A call just came in of a potential bomb threat to Hilldale Elementary. You’re meeting bomb disposal there.”

“That’s a rich kid school,” Richmond says, knowing Will isn’t an area native. “Lots of high profile people’s kids go there. Actors, musicians, diplomats. It’s like, not a prep school, it’s more hippie, but it’s all rich kids.”

Will nods. “Okay, let’s go.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that it's a short chapter, but it's about to get Complicated™️.

Everything at the scene is noise. There are patrol cars and fire trucks already in front of the school and Will and Richmond arrive as the evacuation is underway. Small children are everywhere, crying and screaming as the teachers and police try to corral them into going the same direction across the parking lot.

The back of an ambulance is open as they pass, empty, and Will looks away from it. It brings everything rushing back and he can’t help but think of his blood on Frankie’s hands, hot between them as she’d sat and laced her fingers with his. She’d anchored him in all the noise until the ambulance reached the hospital and she was forced to let go. 

That was the last time he’d seen her.

“Mitch,” Richmond says.

“Huh?”

“Are you okay, man? I feel like I was talking to a wall just then.”

“No, I’m fine, it’s just loud,” Will says, pointing to his ear. “Go find the bomb squad leader and find out how they want to proceed. I’ll try to find one of the teachers and see if they know what’s going on.”

Most of the kids have already reached the other side of the parking lot now and Will looks around, moving towards the crowd.

In the midst of the chaos, as they try to reorganize the children back into some semblance of sanity, one of the teachers is kneeling on the concrete, sundress pooled around her knees, talking to a little boy whose tears are still wet on his face. She says something to the boy that makes him nod and she tucks her hair behind her ear with one hand; the motion reminds Will so much of Frankie that he almost turns away to talk to someone else. The teacher ties the boy’s shoe and puts her hands on his shoulders, saying something to which he nods again and smiles. She stands and steers the boy back towards where the children are being separated into their classes again and as she does she catches sight of Will.

He’s spent six months missing Frankie. 

He’s missed all of them, of course, six months of silence in which he’s only been able to confirm from Susan, once, that everyone was okay.

But now, suddenly, in the most outrageous, unbelievable turn of events, beyond anything Will could have ever even considered as a remote possibility, Frankie is standing right in front of him. Her hair is longer, past her shoulders now, and she’s wearing a sundress and Converse instead of her normal jeans and boots, but it’s her and given the way she’s looking at him he knows she recognizes him, too. There’s shock written clearly across her face that she doesn’t even try to hide for that first second that drags itself out into an eternity in which Will doesn’t even hear the sirens behind him. There’s something there beneath the shock like she’s maybe actually happy to see him, but he’s not sure. She stares at him with her lips parted like she wants to say something but the moment shatters again into noise around them and Will drowns in the sound of the sirens.

She closes herself off, shuts down that shock and locks it away and Will watches as she does it.

She looks at him one more time and leads the little boy away.

“Clarkson,” Richmond says from behind him and Will turns to see a man with his hand outstretched. 

“Lieutenant Jim Boyer; this here’s my bomb squad. Your man here said you wanted to speak with me,” he says, nodding at Richmond beside him.

“Yes sir,” Will says. He shakes the man's hand. “Detective Mitch Clarkson.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When itsalwaysfour suggested a teacher plotline, I swear I had already started on this plot and made my decision what Frankie would be doing, so that was just some kind of insane long-distance mind reading happening there.
> 
> I hope you'e excited to see where this goes because I'm so excited to share!!!!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fell asleep on my couch for three hours and almost forgot to post this, but here it is. The next chapters are MUCH longer.

Will makes sure he’s the one to get her statement.

There are other cops just beside him, taking statements from other teachers, but they’re close enough to overhear anything that might be said. Anything that Will might want to say.

“I’m Detective Mitch Clarkson,” he says, shaking her hand. If he thinks the touch lingers a moment too long he knows he’s imagining it. “I just need a statement from you.”

“Sure,” she says.

“What’s your name?”

“Rachel Meyers. I’m an aid here for the first grade classes.”

He wants to smile at the thought of Frankie dealing with six year olds all day but can’t. “Okay. Can you tell me anything about what happened today?”

She shrugs, but she's looking hard at him. “I thought it was a fire drill until we got outside and the other teachers were saying it was a bomb threat. Plus all of you were here,” she says, gesturing to the police cars and fire trucks.

Will nods and dutifully writes that down. “Anything else? Anything… out of the ordinary?” She gives him a look that clearly says that meeting him like this is pretty out of the ordinary. 

“Not that I know of,” she says. “but there’s lots of diplomats’ kids here. I’d start there.”

“Noted. What’s your current address and the best number to reach you at? We might have follow up questions and will need to be able to contact everyone.”

She gives him both and as cars begin to arrive to take the kids home, he saves them into his phone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not much introspection here but all that is coming.
> 
> Let me know what you're liking so far!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, proof that I wasn't lying when I said there would be much longer chapters! Happy Whiskey Wednesday!

“We shouldn’t be here,” she says as she slides onto the bar stool beside his.

“Hello to you too.” He doesn’t bother hiding his smile but she doesn’t smile back.

“Rum and coke,” the bartender says as he sets Will’s drink in front of him.

“I’ll have the same,” Frankie says. She looks at Will. “I thought whiskey was your usual go-to. I’m usually the rum and coke girl.”

He turns the glass on the bar and doesn’t look at her. “Haven’t much felt like it.”

“No,” she says. “No, me neither.” He takes a sip of his drink and she thanks the bartender.

“So,” Will says when the man is gone again. “Six months.” He taps the glass on the bar. “And we’ve been in the same city the whole time.”

She looks at him with something between anger and disbelief at the implication. “I didn’t know,” she says. “After Dresden I got pulled, given a mission, and told to go do it. After that it took me a month before I could even get ahold of Jai to make sure you were alright. I didn’t know where you were, and after you were released from the hospital, neither did he. Then I got a call from Casey.”

Will rubs a thumb against the slightly sticky surface of the bar. “I woke up… and you weren’t there. No one could tell me where you were. I thought you’d just.. left. But Jai couldn’t find you either, and then they started splitting us up. Then Casey sat me down and told me what was happening. That he was trying to ‘protect’ us. I thought I’d hear from you after that, but I didn’t.”

She stills his hand on the bar with her palm. She doesn’t grip his fingers, she just presses her palm against the back of his hand. “I didn’t leave. I wouldn’t have left. I had no way to find you.”

He nods. “Me neither,” he says. He flips his hand on the bar so they’re palm to palm and laces his fingers with hers. “I’m guessing the threat to the school has something to do with you being there?” He takes another sip of his drink.

“Yeah. I’m just not sure why, though. I don’t know who it was targeted at, or if it was the whole school.”

“What was your directive?”

She shrugs, disentangling her fingers from his, and finishes her drink. “Wasn’t given one. I was told just to embed myself there and keep watch. They had intel that it was a potential target, but that’s all I got.”

“Because they don't trust us anymore.”

“Yup.”

Will tilts his head in consideration of that. “Well, the good news is that it’s my investigation.” She smiles at that and his phone rings. He slips off the stool, answering, “Clarkson.”

“Hey boss,” Richmond says as Will steps out into the humid air and paling light of the early evening. “School’s clean. No traces of explosives at all. Looks like an empty threat. School will be back in session tomorrow.”

“Okay, good.”

“Case closed?”

“Not yet. I still want to do some more digging.”

“Roger that,” Richmond says, a phrase that still reminds Will of Standish every time Richmond says it. “Did that lead you were chasing pan out?”

Will looks back through the window of the bar at where Frankie is sitting, alone now, fingers gripping the top of her glass as she studies the ice cubes. “Not exactly.”

“Okay… well you can tell me exactly what _that_ means tomorrow. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Yeah. Good night, Richmond. Go home.”

“Yes, boss,” Richmond says.

When Will takes his seat again, Frankie slides a glass over to him. He looks at it in surprise for a moment when he recognizes it as a finger of whiskey. She raises her glass. “To finding my partner,” she says, soft enough that no one but Will can hear her. Her expression is guarded, but earnest. 

“To partners,” he agrees, clinking the glasses together. He takes a sip of the whiskey and says, “Oh, the good stuff.”

“Of course it’s the good stuff.”

Will downs the rest of it. “I should get going. They cleared the school, so classes will be back in tomorrow.”

She nods as she takes another swig of the whiskey. “Already got an email from them while you were outside.”

“I have more work to do on this case tomorrow, but maybe after I leave you can come by my apartment and I’ll get your take on it? You’ve been in there for six months; there’s got to be something we can use. I don’t think this was an empty threat.”

“I don’t either,” she says. She’s looking at him a little too intensely and he’s not sure if she’s measuring his words or deciding whether or not to tell him something. 

He counts out the cash for their drinks and puts it under his glass. “Goodnight,” he says with a smile, hoping it’ll alleviate some of the tension he can feel radiating off of her. 

“Goodnight,” she says, but doesn’t smile. 

“See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah,” she agrees. 

He leaves her in the sallow light of the bar with a smile that doesn't reach his eyes because he doesn’t know what to say. It feels like he hasn’t spent six months without her, but at the same time he can feel that loss and the loss of everything else weighing him down again just like it had before he saw her this morning. He misses Susan and Jai and Standish and even Ray, a little bit, even though he hates it. And he missed Frankie every day, every moment where he’d think of telling her something or when he’d do something stupid and expect a snarky comment. He missed her smile and her green eyes and her awkward laugh that was always somewhere between a giggle and chuckle when she’d laugh at his stupid jokes even when he could tell she didn’t want to. He missed her support and her ferocity and the way that underneath every snide, cutting remark she made she was still sweet, and that every time he had said something unforgivable to her she forgave him anyway, just as he did for her. He missed her, and he just left her in a bar with the promise of being able to see her tomorrow. Because he was scared. Because he didn’t know what to do.

“Will,” she says behind him. He turns because he knows that _she knows_ not to call him by his name, not here, not now, and she did anyway. He turns and she crashes into him, grabbing the front of his jacket, slipping a hand behind his neck and pulling him down to her. He kisses her back because leaving before hadn’t been a choice, but leaving her now is, and it’s not the choice he’d ever make.

She tastes like whiskey and rum and he thinks that she’s probably the only person he’s ever kissed who may actually be a better kisser than him. He grabs her by the hips and holds her to him like he’s afraid of letting go, and maybe he is. She breaks the kiss to gasp for breath and she smiles at him with something like relief and this time he’s the one that kisses her.

“I’m not leaving you,” she says.

“I know,” he says, kissing her again. “I won’t leave you either.”

“Yeah,” she laughs and it sounds more like relief than humor. “I know.”

He’s kissing her outside a bar in the humid air of early summer on a sidewalk that’s hazy with the thick honeyed light bleeding out through the large bar windows and this is never how he imagined this happening but he doesn’t care about idealistic conceptions of perfect anymore; all he cares about is never having to let her go.

“Do you--” he says.

“Yes,” she answers, before he can finish. 

He tugs her along with her hand in his and doesn’t bother trying to keep his other hand off her as they walk to the two blocks back to his apartment. He’s too busy looking at her to pay attention to the streetlights and she laughs as she tugs him back onto the sidewalk when he almost steps into traffic. He kisses her in sight of all the cars just to shut her up and she smiles against his lips.

She pushes him up against the wall of the elevator in his building and pulls his shirt free of his pants with a sharp tug so she can slide her hands up his back. He shivers under her touch but says, “Be careful with the buttons; I’m living on a cop’s salary so I can’t afford to just--” She’s the one to shut him up this time, very effectively.

The elevator dings and Frankie takes a step back from him; he pulls at his wrinkled shirt to try and straighten it and Frankie runs a hand over her hair, mussed by his hands, as an elderly woman Will recognizes as a neighbor from a lower floor steps inside and hits the button for the floor right below his. She hardly spares them a glance. Frankie is still standing too close to him but can’t move away without drawing attention to that fact. Will is leaning against the wall in a not-so-convincing attempt at looking nonchalant.

The elevator dings again and the woman winks at them as she steps out. The door closes and Frankie covers her mouth, silent for a moment before she loses her control and busts out laughing with the amusement she’d hardly had contained to begin with. Will laughs with her and wraps his arms around her; she puts her arm around his waist and he holds her as they laugh.

He slides his hand down her arm and grasps her hand to pull her out of the elevator and down the hallway to his door. He wrenches the key in the lock and ends up all but slamming the door behind them as Frankie pushes his jacket off his shoulders. He drops the keys on the table next to the door and when they slide off and clatter onto the floor he doesn’t pick them up. Light is cut in slashes on the floor from the window blinds but the lightswitch is out of reach. She presses him against the door with her whole body and starts to unbutton his shirt as he works his hands under her jacket.

“Be careful,” he says.

“If you’re so worried about the buttons, just do it yourself,” she says. There’s an edge to it but he can see laughter in her eyes even in the darkness. She shrugs out of her jacket and tosses it on the couch. He retaliates by pressing his lips to her neck as he works at the buttons. She gasps and leans back. “I work with kids; you can’t give me a hickie!”

“Not where they can see it,” he says as he tries to undo the last button. She laughs with the sharp sound of surprise like she hadn’t expected him to say that. He undoes the last button and pauses, because she’s still looking at him. “Is this a mistake?” he says, because he can’t stop himself. Because despite everything she still scares him. 

Frankie tilts her head. “I don’t know,” she says softly. “It depends. Right now we’re normal people. On the face of things. We’re still playing the same game, or at the very least we might get a chance to again, but we’re back on different teams. And for all we know this is how it’ll stay. Don’t we owe it to ourselves, now, not to assume something will get in the way when we don’t know that it will?”

“Frankie,” he says.

“Let me finish. I said before that we couldn’t do this. And I stand by that. We couldn’t, not then. But things have changed, Will, you know that as well as I do.” He nods because that’s an understatement. “We have a chance, and that’s more than enough reason.”

He hates himself for saying it but the words are out of his mouth before he can even consider them, “Do you think we can make it work?” She doesn’t reply immediately and he knows she’s considering her words. “What do you want, Frankie?”

She tilts her head again and he knows this is one of her tells for honesty. “You,” she says, as if it’s that simple. “Just you. As my partner.” 

She sounds so hopeful and he steps forward and tangles his hand in her hair as he kisses her. She takes it as the understanding it is and pushes his shirt free of his shoulders; he only lets her go long enough to let it fall to the floor. He slips his hands beneath her shirt and moves his hands up her sides, tracing his thumbs along the wire of her bra as she runs her hands up his chest. 

He walks them backwards as they both pull her shirt over her head and he drops backward onto the bed, pulling her down on top of him without warning. She gasps out a laugh and adjusts herself so that instead of lying on top of him completely she’s straddling his hips, but they’re still chest to chest. She supports her weight on a hand planted next to his shoulder and he grasps her elbow, keeping her there. 

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“Absolutely. Except I’m still wearing pants, which is starting to get uncomfortable.” She just smiles at that and rolls her hips, making him gasp. “You are _mean_ ,” he says.

Will has spent every day of the past six months wishing he could forget her. He’s spent many days of the past six months trying to forget her with the help of something cheap that he takes home in a brown paper bag and throws in the recycling bin a day or two later.

Now, though, now that she’s here and warm against his chest and under his hands, now that she’s dismantling his self-control piece by piece, he finds himself not wanting to forget any of this moment, ever. He doesn’t want to forget the way she smiles down at him when he tucks her hair behind her ear. He doesn’t want to forget the way she gasps when he puts his mouth on the scar he gave her in France. He doesn’t want to forget the way she laughs when she rolls them over again and leaves him incapable of speaking anything at all except her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe this is hot tea, but I really can't picture Will being bashful.
> 
> We're officially not canon-compliant now, kids. We'll return to the regularly scheduled plot tomorrow!
> 
> Comments keep me motivated, and I could really use the motivation!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This cannot possibly follow last night's episode but I'm not going to skip a day. I mean, hot DAMN, though, right??? Wow.

When he wakes up to his alarm it’s faint and he can’t figure out why until he remembers that his phone was in his jacket and his jacket is on the floor halfway across his apartment. Frankie is still asleep behind him, her arm draped over his chest, her forehead pressed to his shoulder blade, exhaling soft breaths against his skin. He turns to face her and runs a gentle hand down her back. Her brow furrows as she starts to wake. 

He can’t believe she’s here.

He can’t believe she's come crashing back into his life with all the disastrous force that had upset it so completely in the first place. He can't believe how incredibly happy he is to have her back and here, with him. He can’t believe she’d come home with him. She had said she wouldn’t leave and she had stayed true to her word. 

He can’t believe she’d stayed.

“Are you going to shut that off,” she says with her eyes still closed, grumpy and groggy and everything he never knew he wanted in the soft gray half-light of the early morning.

“I thought it was safer to let it wake you up than to do it myself.”

“You were wrong.” He presses his lips to her forehead and she can’t help but smile with her eyes still closed. He slips out of the bed and she tugs the blankets up to her chin to ward off the sudden chill. Will snags his boxers off the floor and pulls them on as he hunts for his phone in the pockets of his jacket. As he hangs it up on the coat rack next to the door and plucks Frankie’s off the couch to hang it up beside his own, he hears her turn over on the bed and watches with a smile as she buries her face in the pillow to block out the light.

He slides back under the sheets beside her and props himself up on his elbow. “I have to go to work,” he says, running a hand down her back.

“Mm,” she hums into the pillow. 

“I don't have an extra key for you to lock up.”

“Mm,” she grouses, a little more aggressively.

“You're welcome to stay until I get back, but don't you have to work too?” He runs his hand up to her shoulders again.

“Yes,” she groans into the pillow.

“Then you're going to have to do your walk of shame when I leave anyway,” he teases. 

She turns onto her side to glare at him. “Are you saying I should be ashamed for your neighbors to know I slept with _you_?”

“Please,” he says, “they all know I’m a catch.”

“Then it's not a walk of shame if I don't have any shame about it,” she says. 

“True,” he agrees. He leans forward to kiss her, weaving his fingers into her tangled hair. 

“Ugh,” she says when he pulls away, her hand still on the back of his neck. “You taste like stale whiskey.”

“So do you,” he laughs. She kisses him again anyway. “I have an extra toothbrush,” he says. 

“ _Do_ you?” she says, mock scandalized. 

“Yup.” He kisses her again, slowly. 

“You keep extras for all the girls you bring home?” 

She's teasing him. He can read it clearly in her eyes and in the curve of her lips, but he finds no humor in the jab. “No,” he says, and the seriousness of the word saps the amusement out of her eyes. “No girls,” he says. He runs a hand from her elbow to her shoulder, watching as he traces her skin before meeting her eyes again. “Just you.” He can see the fear it sparks in her, just two simple words. She tries to mask it, reflexively, but he can read it anyway in the way her lips part and her shoulders tense beneath his hand. “Also for emergencies. I was a boy scout, remember? I'm always prepared.” She smiles at that, fear breaking into something with the mixed colors of relief and happiness and he knows she'd say it was mushy if she could see it on her face but he thinks she wears it well. 

He's not lying to her. The toothbrush was for emergencies, in case he needed it, but he sure as hell needs her more than he needs a spare toothbrush. And besides, in six months no one had even so much as caught his attention except his memory of her. 

“Come on,” he says, because she's still shy and he wants to ease her obvious discomfort at crossing into something he knows she's not quite ready for. He doesn't think he is either. He runs his hand down her arm again and catches her fingertips as he steps out of the bed. “I'll make breakfast while you shower,” he says. 

“Fine.” 

He digs the bag of coffee grounds out of the cabinet he'd forgotten it was in as Frankie collects her clothes from the floor. It's been awhile since he actually brewed coffee at home, but they still smell like coffee so he assumes they're fine. He hears the bathroom door close and the shower spit as it turns on. He hunts in the drawer for a coffee scoop he knows he probably, maybe bought sometime in the last six months. 

The doorknob clicks as the bathroom door opens again. “Are you _seriously_ not going to join me?” she asks. 

Will sets the coffee back on the counter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Catch me crying on Tumblr over that episode and screaming at ABC for renewal on Twitter. 
> 
> Leave me a review to make me feel better about the fact that I locked myself out of my damn office ten minutes after getting to work this morning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot returneth!

He ends up being late to work. 

“Oh man,” Richmond says when Will sits down with the bagel and coffee he'd stopped to get on the way in. “I don't think you've been late once since I've been here! Did you get laid last night?”

It's a harmless joke, but Will pauses enough as he unwraps the bagel to indicate that Richmond is right. 

“Ooh,” he says, seizing the opportunity to roast him. “Is she cute? Do you _love_ her?” he teases, drawing the word out. Will can feel his jaw tense and even though he doesn't want it to, it betrays enough that Richmond's expression fades from teasing to serious. “Oh, man, I'm sorry. I didn't realize you did-- I didn't mean to pry. It's obviously personal; I'll stay out of it.”

“I know you didn't,” Will says, forcing his tone to be mild. “I just don't want to talk about it. So thank you.”

“Of course,” Richmond says, taking his seat. He looks at Will across the desks and it's obvious that he has questions burning right at the tip of his tongue but he has enough self-restraint not to ask any of them. 

“Anyway,” Will says. “I think we need to be paying more attention to the threat against Hilldale Elementary.”

“There was no evidence,” Richmond says. 

“I know. But it's not sitting well with me.”

Richmond is still watching him across the desk. “Why do I get the feeling you’re not telling me everything.”

Will smiles at that. “Jessie, if I told you how much I wasn’t telling you, you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Mmhmm,” Richmond says doubtfully.

“There’s nothing out of the ordinary with the the call,” Will says, staring at the transcript as he takes a bite of the bagel. “If anything it’s almost too ordinary.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the dispatcher said he was calm. No pauses, no stuttering. Cool as a cucumber.” 

Richmond snorts. “Good similie. I know what you mean, though. I would have thought he’d be more, I don’t know, wound up. He was very calm.”

Will sets his bagel down. He remembers what both Richmond and Frankie had said to him yesterday. “It’s not about the school,” he says, “or a bomb… it’s about a kid.” He whacks his hand on the open file. “It’s about a kid, Jessie.” He digs his phone out of his pocket and dials Frankie’s number. It rings and rings until it goes to voicemail. “It’s me,” he says. “Listen-- it’s about a kid. I need you to tell me which one. There’s got to be something. Call me as soon as you get this.” It’s a stupid thing to say and he knows it, but he has nothing better to say.

“Who did you just call?”

“Remember that lead I was talking about?”

“Yeah?”

“Her.”

“You trust her to figure out what kid this is all targeted at?”

“Absolutely.”

His answer was so without hesitation that he can see it give Richmond pause. “She’s the woman you were with last night.”

“Yeah,” Will says, looking back down at the file.

“That’s not good, man; that could jeopardize this whole case if it ever goes to trial.”

Will just shakes his head. 

“Clarkson,” the captain bellows. Something fearful and prophetic twists in Will’s gut. “Get a handle on this. Another threat was just called in; they’re evacuating the school already and I’m about to have some pissed off rich people calling me to know why their kids have been scared shitless two days in a row.”

Will grabs his jacket and is already headed for the door before the captain is done yelling.

“Mitch, come on, man, what’s going on,” Richmond says as he follows him out.

Will’s dialing the phone already and puts it on speaker as he pulls out of the parking garage, flicking the lights on the dashboard on. “Will?” she answers this time and he can hear the sirens in the background.

“Frankie,” he says, “I think this is about one kid. They're going to use the chaos as a distraction. Who are they after?” He feels her hesitation like she’s beside him. “Frankie,” he says again. “I know you’ve done your research. They didn’t wait to do this again, so we know they’re trying to move fast. It’s about the parents.”

“I know,” she says. “I think…” she trails off.

“Are you armed?” 

Richmond throws him a look that’s lodged somewhere between disbelief and confusion.

“No, there’s metal detectors to get into the school.”

“Wait for us to get there.”

There’s a pause. “I don’t think I’m going to have time,” she says. His phone chirps that the call has ended.

“Frankie,” he says, on reflex, even though he knows she can’t hear him. “Damnit,” he snaps, hitting a palm against the steering wheel.

“What the actual fuck is going on here,” Richmond says.

“Not much,” he says drily, “I’ve just been lying about who I am for six months because my team screwed up a critical mission and got made, so we all got buried so deep that I hadn’t seen any of them in all that time, until, in the potentially weirdest turn of events I’ve ever experienced, I ran into my partner yesterday.”

“You saw her at the school.”

“Yeah.”

“She's been working at the school.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m a detective. How did I not know you were lying?”

“Don’t feel bad,” Will says. “I’m really good at at it.”

“You and her-- were you together before?”

“Not exactly.” Will pulls into the school’s parking lot and kills the engine at the edge of the commotion where fire trucks are lined up and teachers are corralling frightened children for the second time in two days. 

Will rushes toward the school, stopping to snag a teacher’s elbow. “Rachel Meyers; do you know where she is?”

The teacher shakes her head. “I haven’t seen her.” She looks around. “They’re starting the headcount, though.” 

Will shakes his head. There’s no time. He grabs onto a firetruck and steps up onto the back where he can survey the crowd. “I don’t see her,” he says, dropping back to the pavement. He moves toward the school.

“You can’t go in there; are you nuts?!” Richmond shouts.

“There’s no bomb!” Will insists.

Will draws his weapon and pulls the door open. Richmond is right behind him, covering his back. The hallway ends and turns to the right; there’s a body as they turn. It’s a man dressed all in black and Will can see an earbud in his ear when he checks for a pulse that isn’t there.

“Yeah, he’s not getting up.”

“I thought she said she was unarmed,” Richmond says.

“She is.”

“Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Will agrees.

There’s a shot fired somewhere down the hallway and they rush forward. They take cover as the hallway turns again and Will looks around the corner. There’s a little boy huddled against the wall, covering his head with his arms. Frankie is fighting a man in the middle of the hallway and Will moves out into the hall with his weapon ready as she hyperextends the man’s arm, releasing the gun from his hand with a sharp tug. She wrenches his arm up behind his back, forcing him to double over, and kicks him in the head. She shoves him to the ground and leaves him in a heap. She brushes her hair out of her eyes with both hands, her back still to them. 

“ _Damn_.” Richmond stomps a foot to punctuate the word. “She’s a _firecracker_ ,” he says. “Holy _shit_ , man.”

Frankie ignores them and instead goes to kneel in front of the little boy. “It’s okay, sweetie,” she says. “I know; come here.” He wraps his arms around her neck and she picks him up. 

Will cuffs the still-living man on the floor. “Maybe he can tell us what exactly is going on here,” he says. 

“I’ll make him,” Frankie growls.

Richmond looks at her in alarm. “Shit,” he says again, drawing the word out.

Frankie looks icily at him. “Who are you?”

“Jessie Richmond? I’m Mitch’s partner? Or, whatever your name actually is,” he qualifies, looking at Will.

Cops come down the hallway and Will points at the man on the floor. “Get him back to the station.”

Frankie watches them peel the man off the floor, rubbing a slow hand over the little boy’s back. He’s clinging to her with his arms and legs so tightly Will thinks it must hurt. 

“Jessie,” she says and Richmond looks at her in surprise. “Take Adam outside. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Yeah, okay.” 

Frankie puts a hand on the back of Adam’s head. “You’ll be safe with him, okay? He’s a police officer. He’ll keep you safe.”

She pries his grip from her neck and lets him cling to Richmond instead. Will watches her face and knows something's wrong. He can feel it like a phantom taste in his mouth that lingers after a pungent smell has already passed. She watches Richmond leave, flanked by two other officers. 

“Will?” she says. 

“Yeah?”

“How mad would you be if I asked you to drive me to the ER,” she says. 

“If you what?” She smiles at him, sheepish but relieved, and he realizes that there's blood on her hand where it's pressed against her side. “Jesus Christ, Frankie,” he snaps. He pulls her hand away to get a look at the wound. 

“It's fine; it just grazed me.”

She's right that it's just a graze, a shallow wound above her hip that left a hole in her jacket he hadn't noticed. It's bleeding pretty profusely, though, and he presses her hand back to it. “You should've waited for--”

“No,” she snaps. “If I'd have waited they would have taken that little boy and done god knows what to him. His father is a sitting senator. They were going to use him as leverage to achieve something and you know it.”

“Rushing in like that could’ve jeopardized the mission.”

“The mission?” she spits. “Last time I checked, we weren’t partners anymore. It was my mission, not yours. What do you care if I fuck it up? 

“Of course I care when a little boy’s life is at stake!”

“Oh, and I don’t?

That was a misstep and he knows he’s hit a nerve. “I never said that, I’m just saying that sometimes your singular focus is on the objective and you rush in without--” he stops when he sees the look on her face. She looks like he’s slapped her, betrayal and anger so easily legible on her face that he knows she is so hurt, so shocked that it hasn’t even occurred to her to hide it. “Frankie, that’s not what I meant.”

“I think it’s pretty clear it was,” she says, words so calm on the surface they almost sound disinterested.

“No, no it wasn’t.” He takes a step towards her and the look she gives him tells him it’s a dangerous move. “You saved my life. You did.” She looks halfway to shattered in the dim hallway and it terrifies Will to know he can have that kind of effect on her. “I wouldn’t be standing here, saying things that come out wrong, without you.” He can’t read her for a moment. “We both made the decision to engage. Even if it was your plan, I agreed with you. You weren’t the reason I got shot. The only person responsible was the guy who shot me, and you took him out of the equation pretty effectively. If you hadn’t gotten me out I would’ve died in some back alley factory in Dresden that smelled like ham. That’s not how I want to die, Frankie. I’d hope it would at least smell like chicken, because I hate the smell of ham.”

He can tell she fights the smile that quirks her lips. “You don’t hate the smell of ham,” she says.

“No, I don’t, but I was making a point and it at least made you smile.”

“No it didn’t.”

“Yes it did. I can tell.”

“I’m not reckless,” she says, shaking her head. “If I was reckless I wouldn’t have lived long enough to save your life. You can't ask me not to do my job just because of whatever _this_ is,” she says, gesturing between them. 

“No, you're right.” She looks almost surprised at that. “I can't. And I can't stop you from being you.” She smiles at that, anger ebbing into something he'd almost dare to call fondness. Not that he'd bring it up, not yet. “I wouldn't want to,” he says. She looks away from him and he could almost swear she's blushing. It's an interesting development that he files away for later. 

Even so, underneath the butterflies that gives him, the whole conversation leaves a bitter taste of worry in his mouth that he tries to ignore. 

“Come on,” he says. “You’re going to need stitches.”

She looks at her bloody hand. “Probably more than a few.”

“There's an ambulance outside.”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?”

“I don't want to scare the kids,” she says, pulling her jacket shut over her hand as they open the front door, stepping out of the school and into the sunlight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Richmond apparently has a thing for women who could snap him like a twig. 
> 
> I don't usually explain myself in the notes, but I will say here that I gave a LOT of thought to how Frankie would respond to Will accidentally accusing her of putting his life in danger by being reckless. We usually see her respond with anger when they fight with each other (cf. 1x04) but THAT would be something so intense for her that I think she'd surpass anger entirely and start stonewalling him, something we've also seen her do (cf. 1x05), though just shortly until she cooled off. Anyway, that's where I'm coming from here. 
> 
> Thanks for reading! Comments help me feel motivated! (especially as I work on the next part of _Remember You_ )


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're almost done and it's breaking my heart.

Will sits in the little plastic chair and tries not to fidget too much. 

“Can you _stop_ ,” Frankie grouses. She's lying on her side on top of the bedsheets, pale with pain and exhaustion. 

“Sorry,” Will says. 

“For a sniper, you're not very good at staying still.”

“Forgive me for being stressed,” he snaps. 

It's all eating away at him in the silence. It's too white and too quiet, blue squares drowning in a sea of white in a mismatched pattern on the tile floor, blue geometric patterns haphazard on the blanket she's laying on top of on a hospital bed she's in because she was just shot. A tv is whispering in discordant static down the hall and Will feels like he's about to crawl out of his skin. 

“It's fine,” Frankie says. “The boy's fine, the other kids are fine, everything's fine.”

Will grips at the plastic arms of the chair. They’ve already done this. He’s already done this. He already pushed her away with startling force by accident, not two hours ago, and he doesn’t know if she’ll put up with that again.

“Yeah,” he says before he can bite it back, “everything's fine, except you could have died. But besides that, it's all a-okay.” It's not the crux of the matter, just a symptom, but he can't go there yet when this is still so new and so very fragile. 

“I'm fine,” she snaps with that look on her face that he knows means she's already uncomfortable with where this has gone. 

“Yeah, because you got lucky.”

She sits up on the bed and glares at him. “Lucky?” she spits. “I know you get mean when you're stressed but don't demean me,” she snaps. 

Will stands from the chair and paces to the opposite wall and back, scrubbing his hands over his face. “I know. I know; I'm sorry.”

She catches his arm as he passes and pulls him toward her. She slips her arms around his waist and hugs him, resting her cheek on his chest. He wraps his arms around her and knows that even if she spent last night in his bed with him-- and this morning in his shower with him, for that matter-- this is her truly letting her guard down. Because she knows he needs it. It makes him feel like the floor has disappeared from beneath him. He sits down on the bed next to her and tries to think of what to say. She draws away from him and he lets her go. 

This is the danger of doing this, of throwing caution to the wind, of refusing to push all of _this_ aside anymore. Knowing what could have been is hardly as potent as knowing what is and what could be; waking up next to her this morning was a prophecy that he knows cannot be taken at face-value, no matter how badly he might want to. No matter how badly he may want _her_ , there are no guarantees. 

“This is going to be hard,” he says. 

“I know,” she says. 

“And we're going to fight. A lot, probably.”

She nods. “But Will… a wolf doesn't always have to be a wolf.”

“No,” he says. “No, not always.” 

Before he can say anything else the nurse returns with the painkillers and antibiotics she'd gone to fill, along with Frankie's discharge paperwork. 

He returns to the little plastic chair and waits for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If we knew this show would be renewed, all I'd ask for this season was just a really cute and mostly-innocent hug. Frankie is obviously not a hugger (though she does hug Jai because they're each other's ride-or-die) but she knows Will is and THAT is what counts. 
> 
> So here's one to make us all feel better.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is by far one of my favorites that I've written, and oddly enough (and surprisingly enough given that's it's au and not at ALL what I usually write) my favorite that I've written so far for this fandom. The opportunity to really explore some emotional depth here in a more expository way was probably too much fun. I'm so sad that it's over, but I'm exited to know what everyone thinks of it as a whole. 
> 
> Thanks again to itsalwaysfour for prompting this. I can't thank you enough! I never do canon divergence but this was so incredibly worth it for me. I had so much fun. 
> 
> Also, I ended up loving the ending.

Will lays on the couch and lets _Indiana Jones_ play like white noise in the background. Frankie's asleep on his chest, exhausted from the painkillers and the low-grade fever gifted to her from shock. She’s managed to wedge herself between him and the back of the couch at some point and her weight has him pinned. There’s a board of the cheap couch poking into his back but he doesn’t want to move and chance disturbing her. 

A year ago, this was not what he would have answered if he was asked what he wanted. A year ago he didn’t know her. A year ago he thought certainty was a necessity.

Six months ago he lost her. Six months ago he was reminded, again, that certainty doesn’t exist.

Yesterday she appeared like an apparition of regret, ripping from beneath him the understanding he’d finally begun to piece together of the new pseudo-life he’d been forced to construct.

Today he drove her to the hospital after she almost died defending a child because she’s brave. Today she agreed to come home with him instead of staying in her own apartment alone.

Right now she’s asleep, trusting him in the quiet moments of the in-between: in-between missions, in-between arguments, in-between all the things that have always pulled them apart.

Right now Will knows there’s no certainty except that he’s happy. He’s happy laying here on a cheap couch with a board poking him uncomfortably, his partner half on top of him and breathing softly, happy in this moment with all things considered and even though he doesn’t know what’s coming next.

Frankie shifts, fingers curling in his shirt as she readjusts herself just slightly. He smoothes a hand over her hair with one hand as he slips the other over hers where it rests on his chest and holds her fingers gently.

Behind him, on the end table, his phone buzzes. He reaches back and picks it up, reading the unknown number on the screen. 

“Hello?” he asks, keeping his voice soft.

“Agent Chase.”

“Director Casey,” he says in surprise. 

Frankie wakes, looking up at him.

“Listen carefully,” Director Casey says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry. I'm so, SO sorry but there was no other way to end this. 
> 
> It was supposed to end here, because I really, really love this ending since it's not actually a conclusion, but.
> 
> Drop me a line, let me know what you thought.

**Author's Note:**

> More of a teaser than anything, but it'll get complicated real soon!
> 
> Leave a comment, let me know what you liked!


End file.
